


Motivation

by RebeccaM_30, ZoneRobotnik



Series: Unexpected Plot Twist [15]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Lost Legends refrences, Mental Instability, more possibly inaccurate Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaM_30/pseuds/RebeccaM_30, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoneRobotnik/pseuds/ZoneRobotnik
Summary: Stan is baited into playing to the crowd. Frank visits with Marcus and learns a few unsettling things.





	Motivation

"Are you still moping?" Frank asked when he brought Stan's breakfast the next morning. "You need to eat. You'll lose too much muscle mass. The chef made steak and eggs. Lots of protein."

Stan glanced up at him and then looked back at the wall. "Who cares? Ford's gone. You took away my other half. Didn't even let me say goodbye."

Frank sighed as he set the tray on the floor. "Look, kid. If it's any consolation, I know how you feel. I've got a sister out there somewhere."

"Did she get sold to some creep, too?"

"I don't know. Our own mother sold her." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a picture. The girl was beautiful, with long red hair, green gold eyes and a smile that seemed to glow. "Her name's Amanda. Mom caught her making out with her boyfriend and threw a fit. Said, 'if she was going to act like a whore, she should be one'. Sold her to an auction coordinator two days later."

"Well, I hope that bitch burns in Hell," Stan said, sincerely. "My dad, even though he doesn't like me very much, would never sell me. I'm sorry you lost her. But...it's not the same. He was...my  _twin_. My  _other half_. We've  _never_ been apart so long. Not until  _you guys_ took him."

Frank returned the picture to his jacket. "No. I don't suppose it is. But your anger is misdirected. The person you should be angry with is your boxing coach, Jeff Burris."

"...My...boxing coach? He's...HE'S the one that...I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" Stan slammed his fist into the mattress.

"He was into my boss for over two hundred thousand dollars. Offered you two up on a silver platter to pay his debt."

"I TRUSTED him!" Stan clenched his fists tightly. "We should've never gone to that class! We should've never stopped working on the boat! We could be sailing right now, but...dammit!"

Frank smiled. Finally! Some action. "Yeah. Said since your brother was such a pretty boy, people might not only want him for his brains. Also said if he wasn't already so deep in debt, he'd post a bid himself."

"I'm going to murder him...I'm going to feed him to the sharks!" Stan's voice was dripping with venom. I'm going to make him hurt so bad, the Sibling Brothers won't be able to identify him!"

Stan closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, they were burning with hate. "Whoever buys me better drag that asshole into the ring so I can beat him to a bloody pulp for doing this to my brother." He looked up at the camera. "You hear me?! Jeff Burris!  _Whoever_ else I fight, he BETTER be on the list, because I'm going to KILL him!"

"Would you like something to take your anger out on in the meantime?" Frank crossed his arms over his chest.

"Like what?" Stan picked up his tray and angrily took a bite of eggs. 

"They're pretty old, but I think we have a couple of punching bags somewhere. I could probably find you some gloves, too."

Stan nodded, taking another furious bite.

"I'll see what I can do." Frank left the room and approached his boss's office. He leaned against the door frame. "Did that little show help at all?"

Gibson turned the laptop toward him and grinned. "Ah'd say so. The bids are pilin' up like hotcakes."

"Do you remember where we put that old heavy bag? If he could work out his newfound frustration on that, his bids'll go sky high."

"'S in th' shed," Gibson said, watching the bids go higher and higher with greedy eyes. "Need th' key?"

"Probably. My lock picking skills are rusty." He caught the set of keys Gibson tossed his way. "Oh, um. How's Marcus's....recovery going? Think he'll be ready for duty again soon? Or is he still claiming Cipher's a demon?"

"Not fer a li'l while yet. Whatever Cipher did ta 'im, it goes beyond physical. Why don't ya check in on 'im?"

"I will after I get the bag. I hope he's at least back to English. I don't speak a word of Russian."

"Oh, is he speakin' at all? He didn' say a word ta me."

"He said a few things on the drive back after I made that swap. Mostly that Cipher let him glimpse Hell, then he started mumbling in Russian. Sounded like a prayer."

Gibson sighed. "That bastard...did ya know he called The Authority on meh?"

"On what grounds? You had a valid reason to end the auction early."

"First, he tried ta get meh on cuttin' off th' auction early. Ah told them 'bout mah computer bein' hacked as my reasonin'. But, now they're plannin' a punishment fer meh fer sendin' Marcus over ta break inta his home, and then demandin' Rob's bitch as payment fer what he did ta Marcus! Apparently we're 'not allowed ta use guests as barginin' chips'."

"That's bullshit. Did you tell them that 'anything of Cipher's includes anything and anyone under his roof'? That was always my understanding."

"They don' agree. A guest is a guest. Because he's not Cipher's actual property, Ah crossed uh line."

"He could've been property if Marcus had stuck to the plan of snatching the little bitch and not letting his dick do his thinking."

"Well, things happened tha' way an' now Ah'm waitin' fer their judgement. Anyways, ye wanted tha' bag?"

"Oh, yeah. On it boss."

 

* * *

 

 

 _"Someone_ really  _needs to clean out that shed,"_ Frank thought as he lugged the bag and a stand down the hallway. He stopped and unlocked the door, dragging the thing inside. "As promised, one punching bag."

Stan looked up as he brought it in and got up off the bed. "I can set it up."

"It's a little beat up." He motioned to the duct tape holding parts of it together. "But it should be alright."

Stan hooked up the bag and took off his shirt. "You said you had gloves?"

"Yes." He removed the gloves that were hanging around his neck. "They're a bit worn as well, but they should keep you from busting your knuckles up too much."

"If you had bandages, I could wrap my hands. That would help." He slid the gloves on and did a few experimental punches in the air.

"Very well." Frank left the room and returned a minute later. "I had to raid the first aid kit, but I believe this'll work." He handed Stan a roll of bandage tape.

Stan took it and removed the gloves so he could wrap his knuckles. He put the gloves back on and threw an aggressive punch at the bag, so hard it rattled the stand. It was clear the bag wouldn't last long under his skill. They'd have to get him another one.

"I'll leave you to it." Frank left the room and returned to Gibson's office. "I give it three minutes before his bids go up again."

"They already 'ave." Gibson chuckled. "Ah should thank Fiddleford fer callin' 'im here. We couldn't find 'im 'til he did."

"How's the kid doing? Still on his self-imposed guilt trip?"

"Ah haven' checked on 'im yet," Gibson admitted. "Been busy. 'E's locked in 'is room wit' no internet."

Frank chuckled a bit. "For someone like him, he must be going crazy."

"'E deserves it fer gettin' inta mah business." Gibson huffed then smiled as the bids got even higher when Stan knocked the damaged bag to the ground and looked up at the camera with a " _well, what now?_ " kind of look. "Ah think our fighter's gonna need a new bag."

"I'll see about finding him a newer one. Maybe I can intimidate his coach out of one." Frank smirked at the thought. "What's the bidding up to, if you don't mind me asking?"

"See fer yerself. It keeps goin' up. Ah can' even begin ta predict who's gonna win."

"Over half a million? Not bad. Oh? Who do you think'll win?"

"Tha's mah point, I  _can't_ predict it," Gibson said, forcing the T through his accent. "'E's purty popular."

"He's not bad-looking either. I bet a few of the female fight coordinators are interested."

"Might be good fer breedin', too. 'E's a right stallion," Gibson remarked, watching as Stan started doing push ups since he couldn't use the bag anymore.

"I'll go see about that bag, but first I'll check in on Marcus."

"Ya do that, then."

Frank said his goodbyes and headed upstairs into the main house. When he got to Marcus's door, he knocked softly. "Marcus? Can I come in?" 

If Marcus heard him, he didn't respond. Frank opened the door to find Marcus sitting with his shirt off, tracing one of the many triangles that had been carved into his skin, a blank expression on his face.

"I'd ask if you're doing better, but clearly you aren't." Frank knelt down next to him. "God, he really did a number on you."

Marcus started when he was approached and looked up with shaking eyes. "Pozhaluysta, demon, prostite menya. Bol'she ne bol'no. Pozhaluysta. Proshu vas. Day mne pokoy..."(1,2,3,4)

Frank sighed. "Marcus, you know I don't speak Russian. And, even though it may seem like it, Cipher's not a demon."

He looked at him and groped for a piece of paper and a pen to start drawing something that looked very NOT human. "He...he...changed...into...this," Marcus whispered in broken English. "He...demon..."

"Marcus. Given the situation, do you  _think_ you saw him change? When I see what that freak did to you, I can't blame you. But, demons aren't real."

"On ne ponimayet...on mne ne verit...nikto ne verit mne...Shifreto demon...demon..." He started to trace the triangles again, rocking back and forth with wide eyes. "I ya proklyat znaniyami, o kotorykh nikto ne poverit...on byl prav...on byl prav..." (5,6)

Frank started to put his hand on Marcus's shoulder, but stopped himself. "I'll let you watch, Marcus. When I've got that freaky bastard in chains and I make him my bitch, you can watch. I'll get him for you, Marcus. I'll get him."

Marcus wrapped his arms around himself and muttered again, staring wide eyed at something only he could see. He moved his hand to the carving on his chest, the only triangle with an eye in it. "On vidit skvoz' glaza...on vidit vse...YA ne v bezopasnosti. On vse vidit..." (7)

Frank sighed. He obviously wasn't getting through to him. Whatever else Cipher had done the man, it had broken him. He clinched his fists. "Oh, yeah. That freaky bastard is gonna pay."

Marcus's stomach rumbled. He looked at it before looking at Frank. "F...Food..."

"Alright. I can have the kitchen bring you something. What would you like?"

"Don't...don't know. Hungry..."

"Okay. How about some eggs and bacon? Does that sound good?"

He nodded, slowly getting up. "Need...need to move. Walk..."

"Good. That's good. Do you need to lean on me?"

He nodded again and reached out to hold onto him. "Shirt..." He looked around for his clothes.

Frank glanced at the floor and found Marcus's discarded shirt. He scooped it up. "Here you go."

Marcus held it close and then put it on his shoulders, leaving it open to expose his chest. It wasn't that he  _wanted_ to, he just felt... _compelled_ to.

"Marcus, if that bothers you...maybe you should keep it covered. You probably should til it heals anyway."

"Shouldn't...shouldn't...he'll get mad..."

"Who'll get mad? Marcus, do you...do you think he can  _see_ you? He can't see you, Marcus. He's not here. You're safe. After the boss completes this new auction, we'll find a good surgeon to do a skin graft. Then you'll never have to see  _that_ again."

Marcus looked doubtful. Frank didn't know, he didn't believe him. The whispers of nightmares if he ever removed it, of disappearing. He was Cipher's unwilling spy cam and he had to keep it that way or he'd suffer. He'd never be free of the demon.

"Come on, let's get you down to the kitchen and get some food in you." Marcus nodded and let Frank lead him out of the room.

Frank kept sneaking glances at his friend. He didn't like seeing Marcus this way. The broken man beside him wasn't the tough, trash-talking Russian with the quick mouth and the even quicker switchblade. Cipher would pay. Oh, yes...he'd pay....

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translations. Again, this is Google, so probably not 100% accurate.
> 
> 1) Please demon, forgive me.  
> 2) No more.  
> 3) Please.  
> 4) I ask you to, let me rest  
> 5) He does not understand...he does not believe me...no one believes me..  
> 6) I curse you with knowledge about which no one will believe ... was right ... was right ...  
> 7) See through eyes ... see all ... I'm not safe. See everything


End file.
